


The prostitute and the virgin

by candelina



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Geraskier, Light BDSM, M/M, Oral Sex, Prostitute!Jaskier, Strangers to Lovers, What-If, virgin!geralt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candelina/pseuds/candelina
Summary: A monster-related problem that requires the presence of not one, not two, not even three, butfour witchersis no ordinary monster-related problem.As soon as they arrive at the village it becomes clear that they are going to be stuck there for a while. Fortunately, there’s a very charming boy who kindly makes himself available to entertain the witchers for as long as they stay. Obviously, they’re all excited about it. Except for Geralt.
Relationships: Coën/Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Comments: 45
Kudos: 301





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing so much smut and I really want to thank every porn/smut writer in this and other fandoms because you're all of great inspiration. From the bottom of my (horny) heart, thank you!
> 
> For this work, I was also partly inspired by an old movie which I'll tell you about at the end of the story.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it ;)

***

The medallion vibrates violently against his armour and it’s the first warning for Geralt and the other witchers.

“Fuck. This place must be infested.” is very clever and helpful comment from Lambert.

“They did say something about an army of monsters.” Eskel recalls, as he uses his special vision to make out the village through the thick grey fog.

“Do you actually believe it?” Coën makes his horse trot a bit faster to catch up with the Wolves.

As they approach the place, the roofs of the houses begin to appear more clearly, but everything is quiet. Too quiet for a human settlement.

“Only one way to find out.” Geralt says and leads Roach ahead of the group.

When they enter the village, nothing changes. There’s not a single soul on the streets and many windows are barred, as if those houses were abandoned long ago. Or, maybe, the villagers are smart enough to stay inside and keep themselves safe. From what exactly, Geralt has yet to find out. He hates to accept a contract without knowing what he has to deal with.

He and the others decide to dismount their horses and look for a stable and an inn, with the hope of finding someone there who might give them information.

As if on cue, a fidgety middle-aged man with a brownish beard walks around the corner and comes to a dead stop as soon as he sees them.

Geralt can’t blame him if he feels shocked. It’s not every day that you come across not just one, not two, not even three, but four witchers. Geralt would brace himself for a shriek of terror, a horrified gasp, a disgusted glare, but he realises the man doesn’t smell scared at all. At least, he doesn’t smell scared of them.

“You’re all witchers. Oh, thank Melitele, the gods finally heard our prayers.” The man speaks to the sky, as he spreads his arms and then grins at them. “But, please, don’t stand there. Follow me and I’ll show you where you can stay. Come, come on.”

Geralt exchanges a few confused glances with his brothers and Coën. He doesn’t remember ever being welcomed in a place in such a way and he’s pretty sure the same goes for the others. With no clue about what might be wrong with this village, they follow.

The man – who, they’re informed, is the alderman – leads them to a two-floor house with classy ornaments on the outside walls. It looks a bit too expensive for a witcher, even though it seems to be quite old. The alderman explains that the previous owners were a family of rich merchants who went bankrupt because of ‘ _the problem_ ’, as he calls it. He also tells them that the house has been empty ever since, so they can stay there for as long as it’s necessary.

Geralt and Lambert get suspicious and believe this alderman is unwilling to pay them with coin, so he’s offering them some sort of accommodation instead. Eskel voices their thoughts to the man, who looks mortified and is quick to clarify that this is only a minor part of the payment the village will give them if they manage to get rid of ‘the problem’ once and for all.

The youngest witcher doesn’t seem very convinced and he decides to wait outside with the horses, while the others go inside to put they bags down.

The ground floor has a large living room and a kitchen, but the alderman says that they won’t need to worry about food, because the village will provide lunches and dinners during the whole stay.  
Up the stairs, at the first floor, they find two bedrooms with four beds in total, a bathroom and an office, which Eskel already suggests they use to discuss potential strategies to deal with… ‘the problem’. Geralt agrees, and so does Coën.

When the tour is over, they go back outside and alderman thanks them for coming here and tells them that if there’s anything they want, they just have to let him know.

“The village is happy to satisfy any of your needs, good sirs.”

He excuses himself after giving them instructions to find the stables and thanking them again.

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like anyone, Lambert.” Geralt retorts.

“Are you sure?” Eskel smirks. “What about that Cat from–”

“Fuck you, Eskel.”

“Did I miss something?” Coën asks, raising a brow.

“Shut up, Griffin.”

Geralt snorts and allows himself a moment to think that he’s missed his brothers. When he heard about the ‘army of monsters’ he chose to set off in the direction of that village in the middle of nowhere mostly out of curiosity, but also because he thought he could make good coin. It was a pleasant surprise to run across Eskel and Lambert and find out they were all heading to the same place. It’s been a long time since they had the chance to travel together. They also met Coën two days ago, and that’s when the air around them started to change. There was less laughter and only a few jokes, and Geralt tried to keep his guard up as always. A place that beckoned four witchers at the same time could be anything but ordinary. Who knows what they should expect.

At the stables, they’re greeted by a young boy – he can’t be more than sixteen – and like the alderman, his eyes widen when he sees them, but he doesn’t stiffen nor does he back away. And soon, a cheerful grin spreads on his face. He dutifully guides the horses inside and promises the witchers he’ll take care of them.

“Did the alderman introduce you to the first part of the payment for the job?”

Geralt frowns, and he’s not the only one. “He showed us the house. And told us about the food the village will provide.”

The boy chuckles and shakes his head. “So, that’s a no.”

Geralt expects him to say something else, but he drops the subject and waves goodbye to them when they decide to head back to the house. 

The fog is almost gone, but the sky is still covered by dark grey clouds. Geralt sniffs the wet air and thinks that it’s probably going to rain soon.

At the house, since there are only two bedrooms, they must face the issue of who is going to sleep with whom.

“No fucking way I’m sharing a room with _him_.” Lambert is, of course, the first and only one to argue about something, as he points his finger at Coën.

“Well, the feeling is mutual.” The said witcher shrugs, as if the matter doesn’t even involve him.

Geralt lets out a deep sigh. Now he remembers why he usually prefers travelling alone. Really, they should just be grateful each one of them has a single bed to sleep. “Fine. Lambert, you can share the room with Eskel. I’ll stay with Coën.”

The youngest witcher only crosses his arms and grunts, which is a good sign. 

Coën nods and smiles, but he clearly avoids looking at Lambert.

Geralt has no idea how they’re going to work together, especially if they don’t even know what they have to work on. Maybe, they can come up with something while they’re all gathered here, around the desk in the ‘office’ of previous owner. Before anyone else can speak, though, there’s sound of footsteps coming from the bottom of the stairs that lead to the first floor.

“Didn’t you lock the door?” Eskel asks Lambert.

“Didn’t _you_ lock the door?”

The older witcher sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Geralt listens to the footsteps, which are light, but not careful, nor rushed. Not a thief. He doesn’t sense any danger. “Hmm. Maybe the merchants have left some precious coin behind.”

Coën snorts. “Let’s hope they won’t get a heart attack after seeing who’s occupying their lovely house.”

There’s a knock on the door of the office and the witchers fall silent again.

“Can I come in?”

A soft, melodious voice comes from outside the room. It doesn’t wait for a reply, as the door opens slowly, and Geralt smells a peculiar scent of honey, oranges and soap.

A barefoot boy comes in, wearing nothing more than a short, scarlet, silk robe that doesn’t even reach his knees. It’s also left slightly open to reveal a chest covered in dark brown hair.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything too important.”

He slips into the room like a suave feline and smiles in a way that could charm a kingdom. Now that Geralt’s gaze is focused on his face, he notices the guy has beautiful blue eyes that shine like sapphires.

The witchers are completely still, and Geralt thinks he can hear someone’s heartbeat accelerate, but he’s not sure if it’s his own.

“Who– who the fuck are you?” Lambert asks the question everyone else is thinking, even though he does it rather impolitely as always, and Geralt hopes he won’t scare the boy away.

However, the guy smells anything but scared.

“Forgive my rudeness, dear gentlemen,” he chuckles lightly, “my name is Jaskier and I’m… how can I put this…” he taps his finger on his chin, as if pondering on a complex question, “I am…”

Lambert raises a brow at him. “A whore?”

Eskel elbows him in the stomach. “Lambert.”

“A whore. That’s right, thank you.” The boy – Jaskier – grins at them. “Usually, I prefer the term ‘prostitute’, because it sounds more… professional. But they all mean the same thing in the end, don’t they?”

Then, with the same smooth movements as before, he approaches Coën and places a hand on his biceps.

As he stands so close to the other witcher, Geralt can’t help but notice that the boy is quite tall. He might be the same height as him.

Geralt is also pretty sure that Jaskier is well aware that all eyes are on him as he squeezes gently. “You must be tired.” 

Coën’s body tenses almost imperceptibly.

Jaskier seems satisfied with himself and runs his hand along the witcher’s arm before pulling away and moving on to Lambert. 

“Was it a long journey coming here?” He asks in a low voice, as he puts his hand on the other witcher’s chest and smiles.

Lambert just grunts and Jaskier chuckles again. His fingers tap lightly on the armour, while he shots a glance to Eskel and Geralt. But instead of deciding to touch them as well, he moves to the desk at the centre of the room and sits on it.

“If you take the advice of a humble prostitute, I think you should have a bath, relax and rest properly. And then, you should visit me at my house, which is right there.” He turns towards the window and points at a building which has at least three floors and it’s just at the end of the street. “First floor, second room.”

“We…” Coën says, but his voice sounds a bit hoarse, so he clears his throat before going on, “we can… visit any time?”

“Of course, darling. My mouth is– oh, sorry, I meant my _door_ is always open for you.”

Jaskier replies as if they’re talking about the weather and crosses his leg over the other, exposing even more skin. But what draws Geralt’s attention is how the boy bites his lower lip while his gaze shifts from one witcher to another, observing them carefully.

“Maybe, just make sure to give me some time to rest, let’s say… an hour between one turn and another, okay?”

With the corner of his eye, Geralt sees the other three witchers nodding quietly.

“Great.” Jaskier grins and pushes himself from the desk. As he heads for the door, he swings his hips in a very unnecessary way. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

He stops right in front of it. With his hand on the handle, he turns just enough to look at the four of them.

“Ah, I almost forgot. My services are totally free of charge, as long as you don’t fail to solve the problem.”

Jaskier winks at them, while opening the door to walk out like he’s done it a hundred times.

Tension, which Geralt didn’t realise was there, leaves him and his shoulders relax a little. Silence falls again in the room.

But soon, it is filled a growing scent of… excitement. The three Wolves turn to Coën.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The Griffin protests. “I’m not the only one who… reacted.” He tilts his head towards Lambert accusingly.

“Hey, it’s not my fault. I haven’t fucked anyone in a while.” The younger witcher mumbles, while he adjusts the crotch of his trousers.

“Can’t find a whore who wants to put up with that ugly face of yours?”

“Say that again, you fucking–”

“Be quiet. All of you.” Eskel, who has just gone to sit on the chair in front of the desk, admonishes them.

Geralt raises a brow at him when he picks up a pen and some ink. “What are you doing?”

The other witcher doesn’t look up from the random piece of paper on which he’s starting to write something. “Trying to organise our turns with Jaskier for tomorrow.”

“What?” The White Wolf says, a little louder than he intended. Eskel must be joking. They’re about to face what might possibly be the toughest contract they had in years, decades, and they need to think of something if they want to work together and accomplish some results. He can’t be thinking about _that_.

“Why tomorrow?”

Lambert’s question is apparently perceived as more important, and Geralt’s startled reaction is completely ignored.

“Because the boy was right. We stink, we need a bath and some sleep in a real bed.” Eskel explains patiently. And then, he adds in a very professional tone, “Tomorrow I’ll go first. Geralt after me. Then Lambert, and the last will be Coën.”

“Excuse me.” The witcher from the School of the Griffin is about to complain, but he’s cut off by the young Wolf.

“There’s no fucking way I’m letting you two go first. Have you seen the boy? You’ll wreck him.”

If he didn’t know him, Geralt would be offended by Lambert’s implication that he could hurt someone without intention just because he wouldn’t be able to control himself. Fortunately (or not, depending on the point of view), he knows him very well.

“You know, Lambert,” Eskel leans back against the chair and crosses his arms, with a playful smirk on his face, “you should show more respect to your older brothers.”

“Fuck you.”

“Eskel, it’s fine.” Geralt steps in quickly, before those two starts bickering like children. “Lambert can go before me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Hmm.” Now Geralt is grateful for the scent of arousal, because thanks to it no one can smell his nervousness. Not that anyone would be able to find out his secret, hopefully.

“Okay.” Eskel shrugs and rewrites their names on the paper according to the sort of collectively agreed schedule. “Now, who’s gonna take a bath first?”

***

Jaskier is standing in front of his opened wardrobe, trying to decide if he should keep on the same scarlet robe he wore yesterday or if he should put on the blue one. The former is sexier, which is why he usually wears it when he has to meet a new client for the first time, but some people prefer the latter, which also matches his eyes perfectly.

After a long internal debate, he settles on the bright red one. He can always change tomorrow.

He closes the wardrobe and darts a glance at the small desk in the corner of the room. There are scattered sheets of paper of half-finished songs on it, together with a long pen that he hasn’t touched in weeks, and the ink which has probably dried up again. 

There are many rooms in this huge house and each one has at least a desk or a small table which are all in the same condition. Jaskier keeps paper, pens and ink in every room to be always ready just in case inspiration strikes him and he must write down words and ideas before they escape him. However, at this point, it’s more a futile hope than anything else.

He lets out a long sigh and tries to shake those thoughts off. No use in being depressed now. He crawls on the bed, with nothing else to do but wait. He has already prepped himself with his fingers not long ago because if his instinct is right – and it always is – his new clients are going to show up soon. He can probably call them clients even though they aren’t technically paying him. But they’re doing an enormous favour to the entire village. No one expected four witchers to come here so suddenly, but when he got the news from the alderman yesterday his heart filled with newfound excitement and hope like everyone else. Now, Jaskier wants to do his part to make sure the witchers are all satisfied and ready to fight against ‘the problem’.

Before he can get bored, someone knocks on the door.

Jaskier sits up, fixes his hair and adjusts his robe to keep it more open, so his bare chest can be nicely on display.

“Come in.”

As he predicted, one of his new special clients enters the room. He’s tall, his hair is dark, and he has captivating golden eyes, and also a peculiar scar on his face. He’s wearing a simple shirt, not the armour he had yesterday. That’ll make the job easier.

Jaskier smiles and leans back with his hands on the bed. “I was curious to see who would come to me first.”

“The decision wasn’t too hard.” The witcher says, while his gaze travel on Jaskier’s body up and down. “You did make yourself available to all of us.”

“Yes, I gladly did.” 

His client gives him a curious and amused smirk, but keeps standing there, without moving.

Slowly, Jaskier stands up and walks closer to him, placing one foot in front of the other and swinging his hips like he knows.

The witcher’s eyes are still fixed on him. Desire is clear and shameless in them.

Jaskier puts both his hands on his broad chest and begins to whisper, “Do you remember my name, darling?”

“Jaskier.” The witcher breathes in sharply.

“Good. I’m happy you didn’t forget. But now it sounds unfair that you know my name and I don’t know yours.” Jaskier lets his hands wander on his client’s shoulders and his strong biceps. “Shall I keep calling you ‘darling’? Or something else?”

The witcher wraps his arm around his waist and pulls him closer. “I’m Eskel.”

“Eskel.” Jaskier purrs next to his ear. “I like it.”

When he pulls away slightly their eyes meet again, and a second later so do their lips. The kiss is hesitant only at first, but it soon grows more intense as Jaskier opens his mouth to welcome Eskel’s tongue. It leaves them a little breathless when they part.

Then, Jaskier starts kissing his jaw and his cheek, following the line of the scar. But suddenly, the witcher tenses against him and Jaskier stops.

“What is it, Eskel?”

“You don’t have to.” He smiles sadly, without looking at him. “I know the scar is ugly as fuck.”

Something like anger makes Jaskier’s stomach twist unpleasantly, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he gently cups Eskel’s face with both hands and waits until he looks at him. “I think it’s very sexy.” The witcher snorts, but Jaskier rubs his thumb on his cheek and goes on, “I want to kiss it. Can I kiss it?”

Eskel raises his brows, but eventually gives him a short nod.

Jaskier smiles and resumes kissing him by pressing his lips to the corner of the witcher’s mouth. Then, he leaves a trail of soft kisses along the scar until he reaches his eye.

Meanwhile, Eskel’s hands travel down his spine and grope Jaskier’s arse through the scarlet fabric, making him gasp and moan.

As the witcher kisses and nibbles his neck, Jaskier brings his fingers through his dark hair. “Can we go to bed? Or are you _that_ eager?”

Eskel chuckles against his skin and reluctantly pulls away. He lets Jaskier take his hand and lead them towards the bed. After he sits on it, Jaskier stands between his knees and looks down at him with a mischievous smile on his face.

He caresses the witcher’s throat and then takes his chin between his thumb and index. “Tell me what you desire, Eskel.”

The witcher’s gaze is hungry while he runs his hands on Jaskier’s bare thighs but doesn’t dare yet to lift his robe. “You. Your mouth.”

Jaskier bends down to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “Your wish is my command.”

He lets go of Eskel’s chin and sinks to his knees. Now that he is at eye level with the witcher’s crotch, Jaskier can have a clear view of the erection still trapped in his trousers. He palms it gently, making Eskel grunt. Jaskier almost takes pity on him then and decides to unbuckle the belt to free his cock.

After he’s done, for a few moments he can only stare. Jaskier is met by the now undeniable proof that witchers are – for the lack of a better expression – fucking huge.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

He looks up at Eskel, whose tone of voice is challenging, whereas his gaze is a bit concerned.

But Jaskier is a professional and he doesn’t let anyone or anything – especially size – intimidate him. So, he smirks at the witcher and carefully grabs the base of his hard cock before kissing its tip. He runs his tongue on it, while Eskel groans. 

Jaskier opens his mouth begins to take him inside. Slow and careful not to make the sensitive skin brush against his teeth, he continues until more than a half of the witcher’s cock is in his mouth. Then, he pulls back to take a breath and tries again.

He also strokes him gently, before moving his hands to Eskel’s balls, touching very lightly.

“Fuck.” The witcher moans, gripping the fabric of his own trousers.

Jaskier, who has almost managed to take all of him inside, stops and pulls away again to look at him. 

“You can touch me, if you want.” He flashes him a reassuring smile and dutifully goes back to sucking him off.

His tongue swirls around the thick cock, while Eskel tentatively reaches out and grips his hair.

Jaskier moans against him and the witcher jerks his hips forward. He begins to lead the pace, using his hold on Jaskier’s hair to make him suck faster and deeper, as he chases his orgasm.

“I want to come in your pretty mouth. Jaskier… can I?”

Jaskier almost wants to laugh at how caring and nice Eskel sounds. He looks up again and meets that piercing, yet very gentle golden gaze. He lets out another loud moan and keeps moving his head enthusiastically. _Of course you can_. 

It doesn’t take much longer before Eskel is groaning and filling Jaskier’s mouth with his semen.

Jaskier tries to swallow it all, but when he pulls away, panting slightly, some of the cum spills from the corner of his mouth.

As he breathes heavily, the witcher takes Jaskier’s chin and tilts his head upwards. “Fuck. You’re gorgeous.”

“And you are delicious, Eskel.” As if to prove his point, Jaskier licks his lips slowly, making a great show of it.

The witcher’s pupils are wide as he releases Jaskier and quickly takes his shirt off.

Jaskier chuckles a little and allows his gaze to fall on Eskel’s bare chest for a moment. “We still have time, you know. If you need to rest for a bit… oh.” As he’s still comfortably sitting between the witcher’s legs on the floor, Jaskier watches his cock getting hard _again_. “What… how…”

Eskel shrugs. “Witcher’s stamina.”

Jaskier can do nothing but gape. _Gods_ , if this isn’t the hottest shit he has ever seen. “That’s… interesting. Very interesting.”

Feeling his own cock twitch at the sight, Jaskier stands up and unties the silk belt around his waist. As he maintains eye contact, he lets the scarlet robe slid from his shoulders and fall on the floor.

Eskel’s hands soon find their way to his hips and guide him closer. Jaskier runs his fingers through his hair, while the witcher leans forward and starts kissing his stomach and torso.

His lips are warm on Jaskier’s skin, but they make him shiver slightly. Then, he whispers sweetly, “How do you want me, Eskel?”

Eskel stops and looks up at him. “On the bed.” 

Jaskier complies, crawling next to him.

“On your hands and knees.”

Maybe it’s just an impression, but the witcher sounds slightly hoarser and bossier now. Jaskier likes it. “Ah, who doesn’t like a good classic? Simple but enjoyable.”

Eskel lets out a laugh and kneels on the mattress. “Where do you keep the oil?”

“First drawer.” Jaskier tilts his head towards the night table next to the bed, while positioning himself like the witcher asked. “I’ve already prepped myself, so if you want…”

“I’d like to fuck you with _my_ fingers first.” Eskel interrupts him, while opening the bottle of oil when he finds it. “Is that alright?”

Jaskier smiles to himself. People who believe witchers are monsters should really get to know some of Jaskier’s ex clients – those rude bastards who never asked permission for anything. Fortunately, Jaskier has managed to get rid of them quite soon, and now it looks like he has found much nicer clients. “More than alright, Eskel.”

The witcher finishes to put the oil on his fingers and places one hand on Jaskier’s hip, while bringing his right index to his hole to rub it gently.

Jaskier whines when the first finger pushes inside, but it’s more an act than anything else, since Eskel slips it in quite easily.

“You didn’t lie.” The witcher says, and if Jaskier is not wrong, he sounds very pleased. Without much difficulty, he adds a second finger, but more slowly, and takes his time to scissor Jaskier properly.

That’s when Jaskier tries to push his hips back on Eskel’s fingers to make them go deeper, but the witcher keeps a firm grip on his waist and Jaskier whines again. This time it’s not an act, though.

“Please.”

“Who’s eager now?” Eskel chuckles behind him.

A third finger presses against Jaskier’s walls inside his hole and he lets out a loud moan. “ _Please_ , Eskel.”

“‘Please’ what, Jaskier?” He’s far too smug now.

The witcher has let go of his hip and his hand travels up and down Jaskier’s spine, as if to soothe him. It only makes him arch his back and spread his legs farther, as he offers himself completely. “Fuck me. Fuck me, please.”

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely.” Carefully, Eskel pulls his fingers out and grabs the bottle of oil to apply it on his cock.

Jaskier’s heart is beating faster in anticipation. Then, he feels something bigger than three fingers pressing against his waiting hole. Large, gentle hands come to rest on his arse and pull his cheeks apart before the witcher’s hard member enters him.

Jaskier gasps and moans and tries to remind himself that he has to relax if he wants to take all of it inside. But Eskel keeps pushing and _gods_ , how can there be _more_? Jaskier feels so fucking full already. He’s not going to give up so easily, though.

When the witcher pulls back, Jaskier prepares himself for the first thrust. It’s more calculated and less hard than he expected, but it still makes Jaskier whine in pleasure. This time, however, the sound is covered by Eskel’s groan.

“Such a pretty, little, warm hole you have. So tight.” He almost pulls away and thrusts back in once more. Then, he repeats the same motion again. And again.

Jaskier’s arms begin to tremble and he ends up collapsing on his elbows, pressing his cheek on the pillow.

“Is this how you like it? Tell me, Jaskier. Is this what you want?”

Something distant in the back of his mind tells Jaskier that he should be the one asking those questions. But if he’s right – and he usually is when it comes to other people’s sexual needs – then he has the answer that will satisfy both of them.

“Faster.” He mumbles.

Eskel has pulled out almost completely. Only the tip of his member is still inside when he starts slipping in once again. Mercilessly slow. “Gotta speak louder, pretty boy. I can’t hear you.”

“Faster! Gods, Eskel, fuck me harder! Please, faster!”

“That’s what I thought.” There’s a clear grin in Eskel’s low voice. He seizes Jaskier’s hips tighter than he did before and picks up his pace.

Skin slaps against skin, as Jaskier tries to meet the witcher’s movements. Sinful moans and sounds of pleasure fill the room, and he is barely aware of who’s making them. 

The steady rhythm of Eskel’s thrusts begins to shift as he pushes deeper, hitting Jaskier’s sweet spot.

Then, a hand slips between his thighs and Jaskier grips the sheets as suddenly there’s too much stimulation. He manages to muffle his screams against the pillow, until he feels Eskel’s cock throbbing inside him while his large hand strokes his erection faster.

“Eskel, I’m– I’m gonna–”

“Yes, yes, fuck. Come for me, Jaskier.”

Jaskier can’t do much else but obey to that deep, gruff voice. He comes, with a scream, all over the witcher’s hand and on the bed, and then clenches around his cock.

Behind him, Eskel thrusts a couple of times more before cumming inside his hole.

Suddenly, the only sounds in bedroom are their gasps and quickened heartbeats. Jaskier, who’s now spread out on the mattress and unable to move, feels the witcher pulling out and lying down next to him.

“That was…”

“Good? Amazing?” Jaskier mumbles sleepily.

“Yeah.” Eskel looks up at the ceiling, with a smug, satisfied smile on his face.

“’m glad.”

“Was it good for you, too?”

Jaskier blinks when he hears the witcher’s slightly uncertain tone and moves closer to whisper tenderly, “Very much.”

Eskel turns to him and brings a hand to back of his neck to pull him in a deep, but gentle kiss. Then, he sits up and finds a small towel to clean himself before putting his shirt on.

“Are you leaving already?” Jaskier asks while sitting up as well.

“Yes.” He replies and gets up to head for the door, but glances at Jaskier once again. “We agreed to give you at least an hour and half before the next one comes in. I hope that’s fine.”

Jaskier smiles at him. He does his best to make it look genuine as he tries not to gulp or grimace in front of him. “Yes, thank you.”

After Eskel leaves, Jaskier lets himself fall back on the bed and huffs. If all witchers fuck like that he’s not sure if he can survive it. But what a way to go.

True to Eskel’s words, almost two hours later there’s another knock on his door.

He has had all the time to rest and wash himself properly before wearing the same scarlet robe again. This time, Jaskier decides to go open the door.

“Hello, there.” He says, batting his eyelashes and smiling, as he finds himself in front of his new client.

The witcher with dark, short hair barely grunts. There’s a scowl on his face, as if he were angry, but Jaskier knows better. He knows the type.

“Please, come in.” He steps aside, allowing the witcher to enter and then stands close to him. “Can I know your name?”

“Lambert.”

“Lambert. I’m Jaskier, but I’m sure you remembered it.” Jaskier places a hand on the witcher’s right arm and slides it on his shoulder. Then, he does the same thing with his left arm, and finally wraps his own arms around Lambert’s neck. “So, would you like to have some fun?”

Lambert grabs his hips, squeezing, and replies in what sounds like a growl. “You might not like my definition of ‘fun’, pretty boy.”

With their bodies pressed so close it’s easy to feel the witcher’s body heat. Jaskier smirks, feeling already so hot. “Try me.”

That’s when Lambert’s expression finally breaks into a grin. “Oh, I will.”

With that, he leans forwards and captures Jaskier’s lips with his own. Jaskier makes a surprised sound, but soon kisses back with enthusiasm. At the same time as Lambert deepens the kiss, he also manoeuvres Jaskier towards the nearest wall to shove him against it.

Jaskier moans in the witcher’s mouth as he finds himself pressed between him and the wall. But he stubbornly keeps kissing and clings to Lambert’s shirt.

It’s Lambert then who pulls away, allowing Jaskier to take breath. “Maybe I was wrong. You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“Why? Is this all you had in mind? I’m disappointed.” Jaskier raises a brow at him, as a challenge. He’s sure Lambert isn’t the type who backs off.

And he doesn’t. If anything, he looks more determined as he moves his hands down Jaskier’s arse and lifts him from the floor without any effort. He also swallows Jaskier’s squeal of surprise in another kiss.

He clearly accepted the challenge and Jaskier isn’t going to do any less. He wraps his legs around the witcher’s waist and rolls his hips against the hard bulge in his trousers.

Lambert groans against him and pulls both of them away from the wall. He carries Jaskier towards the bed without breaking the kiss and then throws him on the mattress.

Jaskier gasps as he his back hits the bed so unceremoniously, and he frowns at the witcher, pouting. “Now, that’s just rude.”

Lambert places his knee on the edge of the bed, between Jaskier’s legs and his eyes widen as he looks down at him.

Jaskier pushes himself on his elbows, knowing that his robe has fallen off his shoulders and has left him much more exposed, also in the lower part. He does nothing to adjust it.

Lambert breathes in sharply. “You should learn what happens when you provoke a witcher.”

Jaskier smirks at him and lifts his leg to rest his bare foot on the witcher’s chest. Then, he lets it travel until it reaches his throat and puts the foot under his chin. “Are you going to punish me, Lambert? For provoking you?”

Lambert seizes his ankle to snatch it away and climbs on the bed. “You’re such a brat.”

“I’ve been told worse.”

“I’d bet on it.” The witcher says while bending forward, and kisses Jaskier fiercely on the mouth.

Jaskier moans against him and moves his hands under Lambert’s shirt, trying to take it off.

The witcher helps him by quickly pulling his own shirt over his head and tossing it to the floor. Then, he places his hands on Jaskier’s knees and spreads them apart.

Jaskier lets him, as he unties the already loosened silk belt. “Enjoying the view?”

Lambert growls. “Oil.”

Jaskier turns to look at the night table, where he has left the bottle he used earlier with Eskel. He extends his arm to reach it and passes it to the witcher.

Swiftly, Lambert undoes his trousers and opens the bottle to apply the oil on his fingers and then some on his cock as well.

Jaskier’s eyes are caught by the sight of that. Seriously, are all witchers so well-endowed?

 _This is how I die_ , Jaskier thinks. _Well, at least I’ll die doing something I enjoy. I’ll die of fantastic sex._

While he’s lost in those thoughts, Lambert has brought a finger to his arse and is starting to push it inside his hole. He takes his time to stretch Jaskier properly before adding a second finger and then curls them to massage him.

Soon, Jaskier is a moaning mess, trying to encourage the witcher to be faster.

“Lambert… please.”

“You can’t wait to have another witcher’s cock inside of you, huh?” Lambert says, with a smirk on his face, while his fingers keep working in Jaskier’s hole.

He wants Jaskier to beg. That’s part of the game which Jaskier knows how to play and also likes it very much. “Yes. Yes, please, I want your cock, I want you to ruin me until I can’t walk. _Please_ , Lambert.”

“Fuck.”

It’s when he hears that curse that Jaskier knows he has hit the target. But it’s too early to rejoice over the victory.

When he tries to reach out to wrap his arms around the witcher’s neck, Lambert grabs his wrists with both hands and pins them down on the bed. Then, he lines himself up with Jaskier’s arse, and with one powerful thrust he slams into him.

Jaskier throws his head back on the pillow and screams. Suddenly, he is very grateful for all the preparation the witcher gave him, or it would’ve hurt much more than it actually does. 

His whole body trembles, but he can’t move it. Lambert keeps hold of his wrists – not tightly enough to hurt – and doesn’t look like he’s letting go any time soon. He has switched to short but still hard thrusts, while the bed creaks under their weight.

Then, he starts hitting Jaskier’s prostrate, and Jaskier can’t do anything but moan loudly again. If he looked like a slutty mess before, now he must seem to be totally wrecked. He can already feel the precum on his own cock. 

“Are you close, pretty boy? Do you want to come?”

It’s almost embarrassing, after years of experience, to admit that yes, he’s already getting closer to his climax. “Yes, yes, ah, please. Lambert, please, touch me.”

“Just a little longer, can you do it?” The witcher begins to rub his thumbs on the skin of Jaskier’s wrists, as if to smooth him, never stopping the movements of his hips.

Jaskier lets out a sob. “I– I don’t…” 

“Shh, it’s alright. Come on, do it for me. Be a good boy and I’ll give you your reward.”

“I’m good, I’ll be good. Please, Lambert–”

Lambert pushes his wrists above Jaskier’s head and takes both in one hand. He places his free hand on the back of Jaskier’s knee and bends his leg forward. He can easily break Jaskier in two like this. Instead, he starts fucking him in the new position, which Jaskier isn’t even sure if it’s a humanly possible one.

“Yeah, like that. I knew you could do it.”

Jaskier sobs again – among the other sounds he’s making which he’s barely aware of – and then Lambert lets go of his leg and finally takes Jaskier’s cock in his huge hand.

The movements follow more or less the rhythm of his hips, which is getting faster, as the witcher is probably close to his orgasm as well.

Jaskier looks at him, pleadingly. “Lambert…”

“Good boy. Come for me now.”

Jaskier shuts his eyes and obeys gladly. He comes all over his own stomach, while the witcher keeps thrusting into him, but it doesn’t take much longer before he’s cumming too, with a loud groan. 

They are both sweaty and panting heavily now. 

Lambert lets go of his wrists and pulls out. Then, he sits on the edge of the bed, while Jaskier pushes himself on his elbow and leans his chin on his hand.

“So, how was it?” he asks, knowing that he sounds smug.

“Not bad.”

The comment leaves Jaskier outraged, as he gasps dramatically. “That’s a damn lie and you know it!”

Lambert turns to him, with a grin on his face. “Maybe I’ll have to try it again to be sure.”

Jaskier raises a brow at him and then smirks. “Well, you know where to find me.”

The witcher shakes his head, while grumbling something to himself, and then gets up.

“Aren’t you going to rest here for a moment?”

“Miss me already?”

Jaskier decides to play with him a little, batting his eyelashes and pouting just slightly. “Not now that I can still feel your cum inside me. But I have to wash soon and then I’ll feel so empty without your cock and I’m gonna miss the way you thrust into me so much.”

Lambert breathes in sharply and growls, while turning away before he can get hard again. “Fuck. You little whore.”

Jaskier smiles to himself and waves his hand. “See you next time, Lambert. I hope you won’t feel too lonely without me.”

As he curses again, the witcher walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Jaskier leans back on the bed and looks up at the ceiling.

Many new, interesting things happened today, and he is ready to discover even more. That ‘witcher’s stamina’ thing is something that he definitely wants to explore. He needs to learn as much as possible about his special clients.

One thing is certain for now. He has never felt so sexually satisfied in his life before.

***

The moment he steps in front of the door Geralt has the urge to leave. 

Two hours after Lambert came back – looking satisfied and pleased with himself, even though he mumbled something about the boy being a little bastard, which made Eskel laugh – Geralt went to Jaskier’s house, as he’s expected to do, since it’s ‘his turn’.

Now, there’s like an odd twist in his stomach and the scent of the place doesn’t help. The air is filled with a light smell of sex, soap and more than one kind of perfume. It’s not bad, but his nose still itches unpleasantly.

He wishes he could just turn away from this, take a walk around and hope that the boy won’t tell anything to his brothers or Coën. Or, maybe, he could just ask for a handjob – like he has done in the past on those rare occasions he visited a brothel, mostly because it was a form of payment or because he met another witcher (usually Lambert) who insisted they went there – and pray that the boy won’t ask him any questions.

He’s not sure why he hasn’t told his brothers that he has never had sex yet. It feels strange, sometimes, when he thinks about it. They always share everything. Eskel and Lambert are among the very few people he’d trust with his life. But somehow this feels too personal, too intimate, one of the things he has been keeping to himself and himself only.

If he opens the door, there’s a possibility that he might have to explain this to someone else. It has happened before. A whore or two has asked him why he only wanted a handjob and nothing more. He used money as an excuse. But this time money isn’t an issue, so it can’t work.

Along with his nose, his skin starts itching slightly, under his black shirt. He had been about to leave the merchant’s abandoned house with still his armour on, when the other witchers suggested he’d take it off to be more practical. Now, he feels like he’s naked in front of this door.

After taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he knocks.

“Come in.” That cheerful, melodious voice from yesterday replies on the other side.

Geralt opens the door and lets his gaze travel around the room as he gets in. It’s spacious and old, like the rest of the place. It doesn’t look like a whorehouse. Besides, it’s all very quiet, so probably only one person lives here.

That person is sitting comfortably on the bed, legs crossed and silk red robe more opened than necessary.

“Hello.” He coos and tilts his head slightly.

There’s a soft smile on the boy’s face and it doesn’t look forced. But his blue eyes are shining with another kind of light. Less innocent, if compared to the rest of his young face.

“I’m Jaskier. Do you want to tell me your name, darling?”

Geralt averts his eyes from him and grunts. “Geralt.”

The bed creaks a little, as Jaskier stands. “Geralt.” He repeats slowly.

He’s approaching him, but Geralt still refuses to meet his gaze. Then, a gentle hand rests on his shoulder.

“What can I do for you today, Geralt?” his voice is sweet, patient, and seductive at the same time, his body is leaning closer and his breath is warm against Geralt’s cheek. “You can ask anything you want. No need to be shy.”

“Hmm.” Geralt turns away.

Jaskier doesn’t try to reach for him again. Instead, he sighs. “Is there a problem? Am I not your type?”

Geralt doesn’t know what to say. “Hmm.”

“Is that a witcher’s code or something? Because I’m afraid I don’t understand it.”

He ignores him, but Jaskier isn’t giving up.

“Would you prefer a woman?” Apparently, he doesn’t need an input to keep talking. “I’d gladly introduce you to one of my female colleagues, but they all left this village long ago. It was partly due to fear and partly to the lack of business.”

The unrequested piece of information makes Geralt turn slightly and raise a brow at him. “You’re still here.”

Jaskier simply shrugs. “Enough business for one prostitute.”

Geralt frowns. “Aren’t you scared?”

“I’ve travelled on my own for three years before ending up in this place. I’ve been in more dangerous situations.”

As he looks at the boy more carefully, suspicion raises in the back of Geralt’s mind. It wouldn’t be unlikely for a prostitute to tell lies, even though the reason behind it isn’t very clear. Maybe he wants people to think he’s older than he actually is. Fuck. Is he even of age?

Jaskier seems to notice his thoughts. “I know I look very young, but I assure you I’m not. Well, I’m not old either. In fact, I’m 23. I left my birthplace when I was 18.”

Well, that answers Geralt’s question. It’s reassuring, though a bit surprising. Is he telling the truth, then? Did he really travel the Continent for three years alone? How did he even survive?

“But enough talking about me. What about you, Geralt?” Jaskier claps his hands together and looks at him curiously and expectantly. “Are you sure you don’t want anything from me? A blowjob? A handjob? I’m very good at both.”

Geralt grunts. Trying his best to ignore him again, he walks towards the window and looks at the grey sky. “It didn’t rain.”

“I’m sorry?” Jaskier sounds a bit confused by the sudden change of subject.

“Yesterday. It didn’t rain. I thought it was going to.” He inspects the clouds, as if waiting to see the first drop. The smell of rain is still there.

“It’s not always easy to predict the weather.”

“Hmm.” That’s true. But it’s strange. Then again, many things about this village aren’t exactly ordinary.

“So, if you don’t want to have sex, what are we going to do in the next couple of hours?”

Geralt’s gaze shifts to him again. Jaskier has crossed his arms and is tapping his bare foot on the floor. Very easy to get bored, the boy. Geralt shrugs and continues his brief inspection of the room. Next to the old, messy desk in the corner, there’s something he hasn’t noticed before.

“What’s that?” 

He tilts his head in that direction and Jaskier frowns slightly, following his gaze, until he realises what Geralt means.

“Oh, that’s my lute.”

He walks closer to the desk and carefully takes the instrument in his hands, as if it were an infant. As soon as he looks down at it, Jaskier’s deep blue gaze becomes full of melancholic nostalgia.

Geralt’s eyes don’t leave him, not even for a second. “You know how to play it?”

“Of course, I do. I can also sing and write music, songs, ballads.” For a moment, Jaskier seems to find his cheerfulness again. But the spark is quickly gone, as he traces the lute and its strings with his fingers, touching only lightly. “Well, I used to. A few years ago. When I still had inspiration.”

He almost looks like another person, someone who’s lost something very important too early. Geralt isn’t sure how to feel about that, but he doesn’t like it.

Then, suddenly, Jaskier lifts his head from his precious instrument. “Would you like to hear something?”

Geralt doesn’t have much choice. Not when those two sapphires are staring at him with soft, newfound glee. So, he nods.

Jaskier grins and Geralt must be hallucinating or something because it looks like the boy’s whole face has literally lit up. 

He sits down on the chair in front of the desk and sets the lute in his lap comfortably. “This is the first song I’ve written after my first adventure on the road.”

Geralt takes a seat, too, on another chair and listens when Jaskier starts singing.

He listens, because he can’t do much else. The boy’s voice is tuneful and captivating. The music he plays is harmonious and full of life. Geralt has many years of travelling experience, he’s been in more places than he can count more than once already, he has found himself witnessing bards and troubadours singing and playing across the Continent. But he doesn’t remember enjoying a performance such as this.

However, as for the content of the song, well…

“So? What do you think?” Jaskier asks him, smiling and looking very eager, when he’s done.

Geralt barely blinks.

“Come on, you must have some review for me. Three words or less.”

Slowly, Geralt crosses his arms. His golden gaze is probably harder than it should be. “They don’t exist.”

Jaskier blinks at him. “What doesn’t exist?”

“The creatures in your song.”

Jaskier opens his mouth but then closes it again. Speechless, for the first time since Geralt has seen him. He now seems to be waiting for further explanations, which Geralt doesn’t give.

“I knew the bastard was lying just to impress me.” Jaskier sighs loudly. “I got the tale from a hunter in Posada. We flirted for a bit at the tavern and he also bought me a drink. He was very nice, but apparently a damn liar as well.” He carefully places the lute aside and then goes on, “You know, I had to work a lot with my imagination, since I never had the chance to have a close encounter with a monster.”

As if that was something normal people wish to happen. “Thank the gods for it, or you’d be dead.”

The sentence probably comes out more threatening than Geralt intended. Jaskier looks at him in a strange way, before he puts his elbow on his knee and takes his own chin between his fingers, becoming more pensive for a few moments. “Hm. Oh, listen, I have an idea. _You_ will tell me some of your stories.”

Geralt raises both his brows.

“Come on, it’d be perfect. I will have reliable sources for my songs without having to face monsters myself, and we’ll have something to do to pass the time. What do you say, Geralt?”

It sounds like the decision has already been made, and Geralt has to admit that there could be worse choices. “Hmm.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes and shakes his head, chuckling. “I’ll take that as a yes. Now, what’s the first story you’d like to tell? Perhaps you can start with your most recent adventure.” He takes a pen and a random piece of paper, and then smiles at Geralt as some sort of encouragement.

Geralt doesn’t understand why, but he feels more at ease with Jaskier than he has ever felt with anyone he doesn’t know well (and even with some people he knows). His skin has stopped itching and his shoulders are more relaxed now.

So, he tentatively smiles back and begins to tell him.

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to anyone who leaves kudos and comments here!   
> I really appreciate that you let me know if you like my work!
> 
> After this, there's only one more chapter to go ;)

***

During the following week, Jaskier learns many interesting facts about each one of the witchers. Especially about their sexual tastes (except for Geralt).

For example, Eskel is a very sweet man who likes long, passionate kisses but also enjoys Jaskier’s mouth in more than one way. Sometimes, he offers Jaskier to return the favour and give him a blowjob, which is really appreciated. When he fucks, he prefers to take Jaskier from behind and always asks him if he’s fine and makes sure to pleasure him greatly.

It’s very different with Lambert. He likes it rough but never aims to hurt Jaskier, of course, and he’s much kinkier. One day he made Jaskier wear a blindfold and tied his wrists behind his back before he fucked him. But he also surprised Jaskier once, when he asked to be the one to remain tied during sex. They always choose a safeword, just to be sure.

Of the three of them, Coën certainly has the greatest imagination. He once asked Jaskier if he owned a large mirror, which obviously Jaskier does. They found it in one of the many rooms of the huge house and moved it to the bedroom. Since Coën likes to have Jaskier in his lap (and he particularly enjoys when Jaskier rides him), he sat on the edge of the bed and made Jaskier face the mirror in front of them while he sank on the witcher’s fat cock. It was an extremely hot experience.

As for Geralt, despite his usually serious expression and sort of grumpy mood, he’s been nothing but kind with Jaskier. He never touches him – so Jaskier doesn’t get too close to him either – and he doesn’t talk a lot, unless he’s explaining some things about monsters. He always listens when Jaskier speaks and has also given him a few ideas for a song. Jaskier, who hasn’t written more than two or three sentences in the past couple of years, is slowly finding a way out of his artist’s block. Sometimes, he even catches Geralt curling his lips slightly – in what might be a tiny smile – when he plays his lute. And even if their bodies aren’t close to one another, Jaskier feels warm and safe when he’s alone with Geralt in the bedroom.

All in all, Jaskier is having a great time and he can’t complain. However, he still hopes – along with all the villagers – that they can solve their monster problem before everyone is forced to move away.

***

It’s the start of their second week in the village and Geralt has stopped counting how many times they inspected the forest which surrounds the place with no concrete result. 

For a village that is said to be threatened by an army of monsters, there are very few non-human creatures around here (animals and witchers included).

There’s also this feeling, Geralt might be wrong about it, but he thinks his brothers and Coën aren’t as focused on the contract as they should be. They’re always in a good mood – even Lambert – which is great, but maybe they’re enjoying themselves a bit too much here. It’s not like he can blame them, though. The villagers always give them delicious food and beer on time, and they don’t treat them as the monsters they’re hunting.

And then there’s Jaskier, of course.

Jaskier is unlike any other person he has met before. He always greets Geralt with a smile and talks a lot about anything, even though he usually avoids talking about sex since Geralt has told him he wants nothing of that sort. He generally respects his personal space and only rests a hand on Geralt’s shoulder once in a while, as a friendly gesture. Which is strange. People aren’t usually so friendly with Geralt and don’t smell nice and happy when they see him. Jaskier also pays attention to anything he says and often takes notes for ‘artistic inspiration’, whatever that means. The best moment is when he plays his music with the lute. His fingers move skilfully and with grace, his blue gaze turns to the window and towards the sky, dreamily. Even Geralt might be starting to smell better when he’s with him.

“Oi, Geralt.”

Coën’s voice calls him from somewhere in the area of the forest they’re inspecting today.

He finds him easily. And the other witcher turns to him. “We’ve already controlled this place, right?”

Geralt nods.

“Interesting. Because I don’t remember seeing _that_.” He tilts his head towards a large cave not far from where they stand.

His wolf medallion begins to vibrate. Could there be some sort of magic? A curse? If they haven’t found anything until now, maybe something or someone is helping the monsters stay hidden. But why?

Coën takes a few steps towards the cave, but it’s too dark inside to see anything, even for a witcher. “We’ll need a trap. Or a decoy. Something to attract them out of there.”

“Hmm.”

“What? You got another idea?”

Geralt grunts. There’s a disgusting smell in the air, like in a swamp. But no sound, as if the animals have abandoned this place a long time ago. “Whatever it is, it’s been quiet for too long.”

“You think we should expect something soon?”

“Maybe.”

Coën observes the cave again and narrows his eyes. “Let’s talk with the others.”

***

If anyone ever dares to say something mean about witchers Jaskier will either laugh at them or fight them (probably both), depending on the mood.

That doesn’t mean that all witchers are good, sweet angels, of course.

Lambert, for instance, can be a real bastard when he wants to. Today, he’s in a particularly playful and kinky mood, which usually translates into a lot of sexy fun for both of them. But today, he has decided to be a fucking tease.

He has blindfolded Jaskier, again, and tied his wrists above his head to headboard of the bed. And now, after using his fingers to stretch him properly and without making him cum yet, he’s pressing his cock right on Jaskier’s hole but _doesn’t_ put it in.

“Lambert…” Jaskier whines and tries once again to push his hips against the witcher’s hard member, without success, and he squirms underneath his hold, but in vain.

“So needy. Huh, pretty boy?”

He’s fucking losing his patience. “Lambert, I swear to all the gods of the universe if you don’t put your fucking cock inside me _this instant_ I will–”

“Oh, you mean…” Lambert shifts his hips backwards and finally, _finally_ slams into him with one hard motion, filling him up completely. A loud groan escapes the witcher’s mouth, but there’s still a smug grin in his voice, “… like this?”

Jaskier’s breath is stolen from his lungs and his back arches against the bed. “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah, I know that’s what you want. Don’t worry, I’m gonna give you everything you need and more.”

Then, he starts fucking him seriously. Just as promised. Jaskier doesn’t know how long he won’t be able to walk after this, but he doesn’t care, nor he has the mental capacity to think about it right now. 

Lambert has a tight grip on the back of his thighs, keeping both his legs up in the air, and continues to thrust even when Jaskier’s head is dizzy with pleasure. He couldn’t move his own body if he wanted to.

He lets out a sob when his cock begins to throb. “Lambert, Lambert, touch me. Please, touch me.”

For once, the witcher doesn’t argue and takes him in his hand. 

Not much later, Jaskier moans and comes all over his own stomach.

Lambert grunts and fucks him through his orgasm. Then, he begins to slow down until he pulls out just before he reaches his own climax. And he spills his cum on Jaskier’s arse and thighs.

“Ugh.” Jaskier mumbles as he tries to catch his breath.

“Eh. That was good.” The witcher sighs.

“Glad you enjoyed yourself. Now, untie me.”

Jaskier hears a snort and then the bed creaks under him as Lambert gets up. There’s a brief pause after that.

“Nah, I don’t think I will.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen behind the black blindfold. He tries to tug at the robe around his wrists, but it’s too well tied. “You’re not funny, you know. Stop joking, Lambert.”

“Who says I’m joking?” Heavy footsteps sound like they’re getting far away. Then, the door opens. “Have fun, pretty boy.” 

“What?”

There’s a loud laughter, and the door closes shortly after.

“Lambert? Lambert! Come back here, you prick!”

***

When he walks in the house, Geralt frowns slightly as he perceives something different in the air. 

He has waited about an hour and a half, like usually does after his brother came back from Jaskier’s. He was strangely cheerful but refused to say anything when asked about it. 

Geralt’s nose twitches as soon as he starts climbing the stairs, which confirms his first assumptions.

Jaskier likes to take a bath after his encounters with each one of his clients, so there’s always a nice scent inside the place. But this time, the smell of sex is strong, undeniable, and impossible to ignore. 

Maybe Jaskier has another guest?

No, he can’t hear any noise which might indicate that sort of activity is going on.

He walks in front of the door and knocks. No reply. Should he knock harder? He doesn’t like it. Jaskier always answers the first time and the scent of sex now is getting mixed with a pungent smell of distress.

Geralt pushes the door open and his gaze immediately turns towards the bed. And he freezes.

“Geralt? Is that you?”

Jaskier is lying on his back, squirming as he tries to free his arms where they are tied to the headboard and – except for the blindfold that covers his eyes – he’s completely naked.

“Hmm…” is all Geralt manages.

“Geralt! Oh, thank the gods. Quick, come here and untie me. Please.”

Geralt swallows hard and slowly approaches the bed. Then, he bends forwards and carefully unties the ropes, freeing his wrists.

Jaskier sighs in relief and pulls the blindfold off his face, blinking a few times to adjust his vision. “Ugh. Look at this.” He grimaces when he glances down at himself. “I’ve never felt so filthy in my life. And I’ve worked as a prostitute for two years.”

He grabs a towel that was left on the night table next to the bed. Geralt turns away to give him some privacy and his shoulders tense a little while he walks around the room.

“Geralt? Are you okay?”

Finally, he finds what he’s looking for. On Jaskier’s desk, among the mess of paper, notebooks and other stuff, there’s a jug of water and a glass. He takes the glass and pours some water in it and then walks back to the bed where Jaskier is sitting.

But when he turns to him, he sees that Jaskier’s cheeks look a bit flushed, as if he were… embarrassed?

He has covered himself with his robe, but can’t even look at Geralt as he says, “I… I’m sorry you had to see this.”

Geralt tries to control his facial expressions, because he doesn’t want Jaskier to see him scowl. He isn’t angry. Not with him, at least. He must save the anger for the right person. But that’s for later. Now, he’s here with Jaskier. He crosses the space between them and slowly, to avoid startling him, he offers Jaskier the glass of water. “Don’t apologise. It’s not your fault.”

When Jaskier meets his eyes he looks surprised, but soon his lips curve into a grateful smile as he accepts the water. Once he has quenched his thirst and has placed the glass on the night table, he turns to Geralt again and tilts his head, batting his eyelashes. “So, what can I do to thank my hero?”

Geralt raises his brows slightly and looks away briefly to think of something. “Have you written any new songs?”

Jaskier’s face lights up with a new spark. “Yes. I did.”

“Hmm. Let’s see if they’re more accurate and realistic now.”

Jaskier gapes and makes some outraged noises, putting a hand on his own chest.

Geralt just smirks at him and he fetches his lute.

***

Back at the house, Geralt finds his brothers and Coën in the office, as usual. But this time, no one is bickering with another and the air in the room feels heavy. They all have their arms crossed and brows furrowed in concentration.

However, the gloomy mood fades almost as soon as Lambert turns to him and his mouth spreads in a feral grin. 

“Hey, Geralt.” The bastard doesn’t even try to look innocent. “Everything alright with our pretty boy? I bet you found him… ready for you to do anything you wanted with him, huh?”

Geralt clenches his jaw and his fist, growling. He wants to punch Lambert.

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t like to see him already marked and covered with my–”

Geralt punches him.

***

Jaskier crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the doorframe while glaring at the witcher in front of him.

“I… uhm.” Lambert rubs the back of his head, looking around to avoid Jaskier’s gaze. Then, he clears his throat and tries again, “I came to… apologise.”

Jaskier raises a brow at him, unimpressed. “What was that?”

The witcher grunts. “I said… I want to apologise. For what I’ve done.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t funny. I shouldn’t have left you tied to the bed like that. Sorry.”

Jaskier stares pointedly at the black and purple bruise on Lambert’s left eye. He bites his lip as he tries not to smile, because that would be rude, but takes a mental note to thank a certain white-haired witcher later. “Well, since you’ve obviously been already punished for your actions, I think I can accept your apologies. But you have to promise you won’t try anything of that sort ever again.”

Lambert nods. He looks almost vulnerable in that moment. “I promise. And I swear I’ll make it up to you if you give me the chance one last time.”

Those words make Jaskier pause. He frowns and straightens his back. “What do you mean ‘one last time’?”

“Didn’t Geralt tell you? We’ve found something in the forest. Might be the cave of some monsters. We think they’re going to attack soon.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen and he can’t help the small gasp that escapes him.

“Don’t make that face, pretty boy. We’ll go there today, slay those bastards and get rid of your _problem_.”

Lambert talks about it as if it were a regular job – which probably is, for them – but Jaskier was there when people started to scream at night because strange creatures appeared out of nowhere. He was there when small business owners began to close because no one wanted to stop at the village, even for a short while. He thought he wasn’t scared. But now… “Today?”

“Yeah, I came here just because… well, you know. But I have to go now. We’re gonna leave soon.” With that, the witcher turns around and heads for the stairs, but before he can be out of earshot, he shouts, “Get ready to celebrate when we come back, pretty boy.”

However, Jaskier barely hears him and wraps his arms around himself as he feels a cold shiver running down his spine.

***

After taking Roach from the stables, Geralt makes sure the saddle on her back is secured. In front of them, the other three witchers are already getting on their horses. He has sharpened his swords, worn his cloak and all he must do now is fulfil the contract he came here for.

He’s about to mount Roach when a familiar loud voice reaches his ears.

“Geralt!”

He turns around and sees Jaskier running towards him with nothing but his robe on and a pair of boots (and probably no socks underneath). That idiot. Does he have any idea how dangerous it is for a normal human to run like that in the cold weather?

“Jaskier. What the fuck are you doing?”

Without thinking twice, Geralt pulls the black cloak off his own shoulders and as soon as Jaskier is close enough, he wraps it around his slender body.

Jaskier blinks at him, probably too confused to protest, and he lets Geralt envelop him with the cloak. “I… uh, Lambert told me you’re going to fight the monsters in the forest.”

“Hmm. That’s right.”

“Will you… are you going to be okay?”

Geralt stares at him. It’s the first time someone looks at him with worry in their eyes not because of him, but _for_ him. Geralt doesn’t want to see Jaskier like this. “I’ve been hunting monsters my entire life, Jaskier. It’s nothing new for me.”

Jaskier begins to fidget with his long, skilful fingers. “But… have you ever fought against many _many_ monsters in one hunt?”

“I’m not alone.”

It probably isn’t the answer Jaskier needs to hear, because the anxious smell coming from him doesn’t change. Geralt clears his throat and opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know what else to say. 

Before he can actually think of something, a gentle hand reaches out for his own and holds his fingers.

Amber eyes meet blue and Jaskier whispers softly, “Please, come back to me.”

His hand is cold in Geralt’s, but a warm feeling travels through his body from where they’re touching and fills Geralt’s chest. He squeezes gently and holds Jaskier’s gaze. “I will. You have my word.”

Slowly, reluctantly, they pull away and Geralt turns to Roach to get on her back. With the image of Jaskier clinging on his long cloak in mind, Geralt makes his horse trot to reach the others – ignoring the looks they shoot in his direction – and together they leave the village for the forest.

They don’t have to go very far before their medallions start to warn them of the expected danger.

It takes even less time for the first blast of air to move the leaves around them and for the first shadow to pass through the trees as a black lightning.

The four witchers swiftly get off their horses and unsheathe their swords. 

“We’re not far from the cave we found this morning.” The Griffin witcher says.

“About time they woke up.”

A dark growl emerges from the thick bushes and an inhuman figure makes itself known.

It isn’t just one shadow, or two. But many.

The witchers take an aggressive stance, ready to fight. Amber eyes scan the surroundings to see what’s really in front of them.

A bunch of kikimore.

With a tight grip on his sword, Geralt moves forwards, as the creatures jump on them. He raises his weapon and strikes. A slash, and then another but deeper, until the monster – or what is left of it – falls to Geralt’s feet, motionless. But there’s no time to savour the victory when another kikimore attacks him before he can even take a breath.

Beside him, his brothers and Coën are fighting against all the others.

It’s good to have someone you can count on to watch your back. If they’re lucky, maybe they can finish this before it gets too dark and he can go back to the village and fulfil his promise.

From behind the trees and bushes other noises grow louder and something else appears.

Ghouls. And they look hungry.

Of course, he spoke too soon.

More monsters move towards them and the four witchers exchange a few knowing glances before they get in line to block the advance of the creatures.

Soon, the air around them is filled with the sounds of metal strikes and the smell of blood and monster guts.

A drop of sweat runs from Geralt’s forehead while he cuts one more ghoul’s head off.

Not far from him, Lambert grumbles. “Fuck. How many are there again?”

“What? Are you tired already?” Eskel huffs, as he slashes another kikimore.

A bright lightning flashes from the dark clouds above them, but it’s not followed by a thunder. Instead, a loud roar pierces the forest and a flying beast swoops down from the sky.

A wyvern. A fucking wyvern. 

On instinct, all the monsters bend down to dodge the huge reptile while the witchers get ready for the impact, but the wyvern avoids them completely.

It flies above their heads without stopping.

Geralt turns his head to follow it with his gaze and his heartbeat speeds up when he realises where it’s going.

“Eskel, Lambert, Coën, take care of the rest for me.” He tells the other witchers, without looking at them.

Then, Geralt sheathes his sword and rushes forwards. As soon as he reaches his horse, he gets on her saddle and flaps the reins. Roach springs into action and they run in the direction of the village.

Behind him, his brothers are shouting something, but he can’t hear them. There’s only one thing on his mind, as all his instincts scream at him to ride faster.

_Jaskier._

***


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone!   
> Thank you very much for your encouraging words, they really motivated me!
> 
> I know I'm late. I didn't think it would take so long to write this, but I didn't want to split the chapter in two.
> 
> So, here you go now ;)

***

Roach’s hooves hit the muddy road repeatedly and lift some mire from the ground each time. 

As the village comes into view, muffled screams of people reach his ears.

But Geralt’s heart is pounding so loudly against his ribcage that he can’t hear anything else, despite the witcher senses.

His eyes find the wyvern easily in the middle of the town centre, terrorizing villagers who run in all directions.

The beast has landed now and is stretching its long neck while opening its mouth to show dangerous, sharp, white teeth right in front of a group of children and–

“Jaskier!”

The idiot. That fucking idiot opens his arms as if to protect the kids behind his back, facing the monster with a stupid knife in his hand.

It’s the worst moment for Geralt to realise that this is the first time he has seen Jaskier wearing trousers and a shirt like a normal person. He can’t help noticing it anyway. 

But he doesn’t let that thought distract him, as he gets off Roach and quickly draws his sword before he launches himself forwards.

The wyvern begins to sway its long tail with a venomous trident, but Geralt blocks it and slashes the tail first. Then, he goes for the stomach of the beast, while he tries to dodge its huge, sharp nails. 

Behind him, he can hear the children screaming and hopes they can get as far as possible with Jaskier’s help.

It’s a tough fight, but he has been through worse. Blood splatters from the wounds and Geralt doesn’t even care to know how much of it it’s his own.

A high-pitched shriek pierces the cloudy sky before the wyvern finally collapses on the ground, in front of his feet.

Geralt pants just slightly and carefully puts his sword back in its scabbard. Then, he turns around to make sure no one got hurt while he was trying to kill the monster, but he regrets it instantly.

Jaskier is right there. He’s staring at him with wide blue eyes.

Why couldn’t he hide with the other villagers? He shouldn’t have seen Geralt like this. Geralt knows exactly what he looks like right now. A scaring, disgusting, repulsive mutant. Not much different from the wyvern he has just killed.

He won’t blame Jaskier if he runs away from him. 

Except that he doesn’t.

After a few strides, Jaskier throws himself at him and wraps his arms around his neck.

“You came back.” His voice whispers softly in his ear. His heartbeat is loud against Geralt’s chest.

Geralt doesn’t know what is happening, but his arms are shaking now, and he isn’t sure what to do with them. He closes his eyes and breathes Jaskier’s scent to try to calm himself down, which actually works rather well.

Tentatively, he places one hand on Jaskier’s back and the other on his waist. Just like that, they hold each other and at least for a few peaceful moments, the world around them is easily forgotten.

A roar raises from above their heads, but this time it’s just a thunder and it doesn’t startle either of them. But it brings them back to reality.

Slowly, Jaskier pulls away to look at Geralt, but keeps his arms where they are, and gives him a grateful smile. “My hero.”

Geralt snorts and looks away. His cheeks feel strangely warmer, but that’s just impossible because witchers do _not_ blush.

Then, another sound reaches his ears. A distant cry of pain, coming from the trees far away, where his brothers and Coën are still fighting.

“I have to go.”

He tells Jaskier, who looks at him and nods, understanding, even though he probably couldn’t hear anything. He brings his hand to the side of Geralt’s face and strokes his skin gently with his thumb. Then, he leans in to place a light kiss on his cheek. “Be careful.”

Geralt gulps quietly and gives him a brief nod. 

He lets go of Jaskier and turns around towards Roach, who neighs at him. He doesn’t know what that means, but she looks like she’s teasing him. He shoots her a soft glare and then gets on her saddle to lead them back to the forest and to the other witchers.

As it turns out, the cry came from Coën, whose shoulder got injured by a kikimore. Fortunately, it’s nothing serious. Together, the four of them slay the few monsters that were left without further inconveniences.

When Geralt walks back to the village once again with the others, they are greeted by all people – including the alderman – who burst into cheers as soon as they see them.

However, Geralt’s amber eyes search for one person only.

Jaskier is smiling widely and applauding like the rest of the villagers. No one seems to care that a light rain has started to fall from the sky.

The alderman is the first to approach them and expresses his gratitude on behalf of the entire village. He also invites the four witchers to come at the party that will be held at the local tavern in honour of the achieved victory and freedom. They accept, eager to spend a warm night after a challenging hunt. Before leaving, Geralt catches Jaskier’s gaze again and the man winks at him, which makes his chest have an odd, but not unpleasant, reaction.

The witchers agree to take a relaxing bath back at the house and then head to the tavern, a few hours later. The danger has passed, so they don’t wear their armours, but they still bring their swords. Some habits are hard to die.

The rain has stopped.

When they arrive, the place is already filled with music and the chatter of people, who are drinking, dancing and genuinely having a good time. Geralt and the others receive friendly grins by men and women, and even some pats on their backs. Food and beer are served almost as soon as they sit at one of the few tables left available.

It doesn’t take long to see what the centre of attention is tonight. Or rather, _who_.

The source of the joyful song is right there, standing – and moving – among the people. Jaskier is playing his precious lute and singing with all his body, like he hasn’t done it in years. With that bright blue doublet on and that sparkle in his eyes, he’s the beautiful spirit and the young energy of the party.

“You’ll get flies in your mouth if you don’t close it.”

The magic – or whatever strange spell was cast on him – is ruined by Lambert’s remark. Only then Geralt realises he has been gaping slightly, like an idiot. He averts his eyes and takes the mug of beer in front of him to drink.

“Do you see anyone you like, Geralt?”

“Hmm.” He grunts in reply, ignoring his brothers’ looks.

It’s way past midnight when people start saying their goodnights and the tavern begins to empty out. 

Even the music quietens as Jaskier stops playing and huffs, visibly exhausted, but still with a wide grin on his face. He puts his lute away carefully and then walks up to their table. His cheeks are slightly flushed after the performance and his doublet is left open, but he has white shirt underneath so you can’t see much of his chest hair as when he wears his silk robe. He stops in front of them and frowns as his gaze shifts to the Griffin witcher. 

“Coën, darling, what happened to you?”

Coën shrugs with one shoulder – the good one – while the other is covered in self-made bandages. “It’s nothing. Witchers heal fast. I’ll be in perfect shape tomorrow.”

Jaskier doesn’t look very convinced, but he flashes the witcher a warm smile.

“I didn’t know you could sing so well.”

“Why, thank you. It was actually my first career choice and I think it’s time to take it up again.” Jaskier’s eyes catch Geralt’s as he talks. He looks like he wants to add something, but then brings a hand to cover his mouth as he starts yawning. “Well, I should probably get going now.”

There’s a strange twist in Geralt’s stomach, as if he doesn’t like the idea of Jaskier going away. His gaze falls on his own mug, which is the only one still empty. He doesn’t feel like drinking any more. 

“I’m leaving, too.” He stands up, drawing the others’ attention.

Jaskier seems to light up at him. “We can walk together then.”

“Yes.” Geralt’s mouth moves on its own before he can think.

“Hang on, Geralt. Can’t you see the boy is tired? I’m sure we can arrange something for tomorrow.”

Geralt turns to Eskel and furrows his brows. “What?”

“Yeah, Geralt, give him the rest of the night to get some sleep.” His younger brother steps in.

His confused gaze shifts between the two witchers. Then, Geralt’s eyes widen. Do they really believe he’s just thinking about _that_? “I’m not… I was going to…”

Lambert doesn’t give him a chance to find a way to reply, because he suddenly bursts into laughter while Eskel snorts and shakes his head, and Coën joins as well.

Geralt scowls at the three of them. But then, a gentle hand rests on his shoulder.

“Don’t listen to them, Geralt. They’re just teasing you.” Jaskier slides his arm around his own, tangling them together and turning towards the door. “Shall we?”

Geralt nods and follows him quietly, without even glancing at the others, who grumble something behind them.

As soon as they are outside, Jaskier lets Geralt’s arm go and starts heading towards his house, which is closer.

Geralt finds himself missing Jaskier’s touch on him and his body against his own, even though they’re not far from each other as they walk side by side.

Their conversation isn’t much different from those they have had at Jaskier’s place since the first time Geralt went there. He mostly grunts or nods to let Jaskier know he’s listening, while Jaskier keeps talking. He talks about how much he enjoyed himself tonight, about the feeling of performing in front of a cheerful audience, about being able to pleasure people in more ways other than sex. He also moves his hands a lot, like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. Geralt won’t admit that he finds it kind of endearing.

“Everyone was so happy. I haven’t seen anything like that in such a long time.” Then, Jaskier turns and gives him one of those bright smiles he saves for when they’re alone. “And it’s all thanks to you, strong, brave witchers.”

Geralt has to look away. “It’s just… what we do.”

“Travelling, killing monsters and saving people?”

“Hmm.” It sounds easy if you say it like that. “The Path isn’t always so simple.”

Oddly enough, Jaskier doesn’t say anything to that, but his usual scent doesn’t change. They walk in comfortable silence for a little while, before reaching the house.

“Here we are.” Jaskier stops in front of him and tilts his head slightly. He bites his lower lip, like he usually does when he isn’t sure how to ask something and then asks it anyway. “Why don’t you stay in the village? Just for another day or two?”

Geralt raises his brows slightly. Another twist in his stomach, which he doesn’t understand. “There’s no need for us to stay.”

That’s the logic answer. But it feels bitter on his tongue and he doesn’t like it. And apparently, neither does Jaskier, who averts his gaze from him and whispers something.

“I could argue with that.”

Geralt wouldn’t have even heard him if it wasn’t for his witcher senses.

“Jaskier.”

Two infinite pools of blue turn to him and only then Geralt realises how close they are. Neither he nor Jaskier take a step back. Geralt studies his features, the chestnut hair that falls on his forehead, his eyebrows, his dark lashes, the gentle line of his nose, the delicate and almost invisible hint of a beard and moustache, his soft lips…

But how can he know if they’re actually soft? Jaskier did kiss him on the cheek once but it wasn’t enough, was it? Or it wasn’t? 

A weird force gravitates around them and Geralt is barely aware that he’s leaning closer, until there’s just a breath between him and Jaskier.

It’s the matter of an instant then.

His slightly chapped lips brush lightly against Jaskier’s and Geralt closes his eyes briefly. 

_They’re really soft._

Jaskier hasn’t opened his eyes yet when Geralt looks. As he puts a few inches between them again, an electric tingle spreads across his mouth where it’s just been touched.

When Jaskier glances up at him, he seems to be waiting for something which probably doesn’t arrive. He swallows visibly and then clears his throat. 

“I still have your cloak.” His voice is both gentle and cautious. “Would you… would you like to come upstairs and take it?”

The answer doesn’t come to Geralt like it did back in the tavern, as if he suddenly became unable to speak. So, instead, he nods quietly.

Jaskier smiles and takes his hand to guide him inside and up to the first floor, even though Geralt knows the way, but he lets himself be led. When they reach Jaskier’s bedroom, he opens the door for Geralt and then walks to the corner of the room, towards one of the chairs.

“I washed it before going to the tavern.”

He says as he turns back to Geralt and brings him his black cloak, carefully folded like it was a precious thing.

“Smells good.” Geralt inhales the sweet scent coming from it, as he takes it in his own hands. There’s something familiar that his nose recognises, while his eyes look up at Jaskier again. “You smell good.”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth curls into what is probably supposed to be a smile, but it doesn’t turn out very well. Then, he sighs softly. “Geralt, do you remember the first day you came here? When I told you that I lost my inspiration years ago and I couldn’t write anything?”

Geralt frowns slightly at the sudden change of topic. He’s not sure where this is going, but Jaskier doesn’t wait for a reply to continue.

“And then you told me some of your adventures and I began to write again. But when this afternoon Lambert said you were going to fight the monsters… I thought I’d be excited, but I was scared. I feared that something bad could happen to you.” For a moment, Geralt catches a glimpse of worry in Jaskier’s gaze. The same he saw before he left the village for the forest earlier that day. “When I saw that huge flying lizard…”

“Wyvern.”

“ _Wyvern_ , yes, thank you.” Jaskier rolls his eyes in a way that’s too exaggerated to be serious. At least now there’s the hint of a genuine smile on his face. “Anyway, I saw it and I knew I should have run, but that beast looked like it wanted to attack and there were children around and I… I had to do something.”

Geralt silently wishes he didn’t, because he remembers how he felt when he saw the wyvern fly towards the village. The mere thought of Jaskier in danger makes his blood boil.

“But then, you came. I didn’t watch everything because I needed to take the kids somewhere safe, but when I went back and saw you…” Jaskier pauses and looks directly into Geralt’s eyes, as if searching for something. “You stood there, crimson decorating your dark armour, moonlight hair shining in a moonless night. You stood there like a god of war who had just come back from the battlefield and I… oh, I’m gonna write so many poems, songs and ballads about this. And about my desire to embrace you and never let you go.”

As Jaskier stops talking, Geralt hears a heartbeat accelerate slightly. It takes a moment to realise that it’s his own. His hands are suddenly a bit sweaty where they’re still holding his cloak.

“Sorry if this is so sudden. I just… I needed to tell you before it was too late.” Jaskier starts fidgeting with his fingers, like he does when he’s nervous. He closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. “Geralt? Can I ask you something?”

Geralt’s head feels a bit dizzy as he tries to process everything Jaskier has just told him. Then, he hears Jaskier’s heart beating faster as well. He looks at him and nods.

“What did that kiss mean to you?”

He has almost forgotten it. Not because he didn’t enjoy it, but because it felt more like a dream than anything else. A far mirage he never thought he could reach. And yet, here he is.

Slowly, Geralt puts the cloak down on the nearest chair and wipes off the sweat on his palms, which isn’t very nice, but it feels necessary for what he’s about to do. He turns to Jaskier again and raises one hand to touch his cheek. When Jaskier doesn’t pull away, he brings his free hand to the other side of his face and leans in.

Their lips meet with more confidence this time as they melt against each other.

Geralt knows what they shared a few moments ago outside Jaskier’s house wasn’t a proper kiss. And he knows he’s probably not a great kisser. But this. This is so much better than anything he has ever had with another person.

Jaskier is clinging on him like his life depends on it, but his mouth moves gently and without rush against Geralt’s.

A low moan escapes him and Jaskier swallows it happily.

When they pull away it’s only because they need to catch their breath.

“I thought… I thought you… didn’t like me.” Jaskier whispers, while his hands keep a strong grip on Geralt’s shirt. “Not in this way, at least.”

“Jaskier, I don’t… I mean, I’ve never…” Geralt opens and then closes his mouth again. What comes out in the end is just a frustrated grunt. If he could, he would scowl at himself right now.

But then Jaskier takes his hand and gives him a reassuring smile. “Why don’t we sit down?”

Geralt takes a deep breath and not for the first time that night, he lets Jaskier guide him. They sit on the bed comfortably, still holding hands.

“So, you were saying…?”

Jaskier is so open and patient with him. Geralt doesn’t want to do any less. “The truth is… I’ve never done…” He uses his free hand to gesture vaguely at his own body and between them.

Jaskier blinks at him. “Oh. You have never given or received like… anything?”

Geralt shakes his head, but then pauses and thinks again. “Hmm… received. Yes. Only handjobs.”

“Okay.” Jaskier’s tone isn’t judgemental, but a bit surprised. “That’s alright. If you don’t want to… I mean, we can just… sleep here? Unless sharing a bed would make you feel uncomfortable.” He squeezes his hand gently. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Geralt looks at him and something in his chest clenches. Jaskier confused him since the first time he saw him. But things are different now. “I’m never uncomfortable with you.”

Jaskier’s shoulders relax visibly as he lets go of Geralt’s hand to touch his face and then kisses him. His mouth opens, allowing their tongues to meet and dance together, which sends an electric spark through Geralt’s body.

“Geralt, would you like to try…”

“Yes.” Geralt hears himself say. He makes a low sound of protest when Jaskier pulls away.

Jaskier chuckles softly and presses a finger on Geralt’s lips. He gets up and carefully takes his doublet off before folding it and placing it on a chair. He removes his boots as well and then comes back to Geralt, but instead of sitting next to him, he kneels down in front of his feet. He glances up and smiles while he starts unlacing Geralt’s boots. Once he has pulled them off and put them aside, Jaskier stands again and moves slowly, observing Geralt’s reaction, as he places his right knee on the bed against Geralt’s left thigh. He does the same with his left knee, straddling Geralt, who couldn’t take his eyes off him even if he wanted.

Geralt breathes in sharply and grips the sheets of the bed tightly while Jaskier plays with the collar of his black shirt before pulling him into an eager kiss. He feels Jaskier’s fingers on his neck, behind his ears and then through his long hair. Jaskier begins to move against him in his lap while his cock has started to wake up and hardens inside his trousers.

“You know, I like it when you touch me.” Jaskier whispers sweetly to him.

Geralt opens his eyes to find Jaskier already looking at him. He holds his enchanting blue gaze while his hands tentatively reach for Jaskier’s hips. 

Soft lips are pressed lightly against his jaw and leave a trail of pecks on his exposed skin. Then, Geralt’s hands move on their own and begin to caress Jaskier’s thighs up and down through the fabric.

More kisses and fewer clothes later, Jaskier is lying underneath Geralt and they’re both completely naked.

Jaskier twirls a lock of his white hair around his finger gently and sighs softly, while Geralt places another kiss on his collarbone. He looks up at him when Jaskier caresses his jaw with his free hand and tilts his head slightly.

“Would you like to stretch me? Or would you prefer to watch me as I prepare myself for you?”

Geralt’s cock is fully hard now and twitches at the thought of Jaskier squirming in pleasure with just Geralt’s fingers. His voice is a bit hoarse when he speaks. “I want to do it. But… only if you want it, too.”

“I do.” Jaskier smiles at him without a hint of hesitation. Then, he turns to reach for the night table next to the bed and takes something from one of the drawers. “Do you know how to use this?”

He shows him a bottle of what Geralt assumes is oil. He has seen it in the few brothels he visited in the past. He just hopes his mere knowledge of how it works will be enough.

Geralt takes a deep breath and nods, before taking the bottle. He puts a generous amount of oil on his hand and positions himself between Jaskier’s legs, which are already spread just for Geralt. With a finger between Jaskier’s arse cheeks, he starts massaging the area around his hole.

Jaskier whines and rocks his hips slightly, like he wants to encourage him.

Carefully, then, Geralt pushes the first finger in and watches as Jaskier takes it fully. The smell of excitement is still there, no anxiety or pain. He moves it slowly at first, then Jaskier starts speaking to him, gently guiding him with words, telling him when he can add a second finger and a few moments later, a third. Geralt follows his instructions, but also looks out for any sign of discomfort.

A lustful moan escapes Jaskier’s mouth. “Geralt… ah… I’m ready.”

“Not yet.”

Jaskier seems to disagree, as he whines again. “ _Please_ , Geralt. I need you. I need your cock inside me.”

Geralt grunts, and it’s only thanks to his strengthened senses that he manages to control himself. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

There’s a strange pause after that.

“Look at me.” Jaskier murmurs, and when Geralt glances at his face, his delicate hands reach for him. Gently, Jaskier guides him closer until their foreheads are pressed together. “It’s going to be fine. More than fine. Just remember that we can stop anytime if we want.”

Geralt closes his eyes as Jaskier’s lips softly brush his. He knows he can trust Jaskier. But, most of all, he knows Jaskier trusts him and he can’t betray that.

Geralt tries to stay focused on his scent, on any potential change in it, while he slowly pulls away and also pulls his fingers out. Wrinkling his brow in concentration, he takes his own cock in his hand and presses it against Jaskier’s hole.

Warmth envelops him as he sinks into it, but he has to pause halfway inside. Jaskier is so fucking _tight_. Geralt huffs and places one hand on Jaskier’s hip, while the other grasps the sheets of the bed. He shuts his eyes and grits his teeth, before trying to thrust in again.

But then Jaskier cries out and Geralt stops, frozen.

“Fuck. Sorry. I’m sorry, Jaskier, I–”

“Geralt, shush. Come here.” With a hand on the back of Geralt’s neck, Jaskier pulls him down for an open-mouthed kiss. He presses against him with everything he has. When their lips part, Jaskier pants and runs his hands on Geralt’s back, slowly tracing circles, as if to smooth him. “You feel good. You _are_ good, my beautiful witcher. So good to me.”

 _No. You are._ Geralt wants to say but doesn’t think he’d manage right now. He knows it, though. Jaskier is too good for him. He also tastes good when they kiss. But as he looks down at him, Geralt realises there’s so much of Jaskier he hasn’t tasted yet. And suddenly Geralt wants more.

He sniffs him again and when he’s sure there’s no fear or real pain, Geralt leans in and sinks his teeth in the bare skin of Jaskier’s neck.

He’s rewarded with a gasp and a loud moan. Jaskier’s hand grasps his hair, as if he wants to keep him there, as if he’s begging him to go on.

And who is Geralt to deny him his well-deserved pleasure? So, he tastes him again. He bites his earlobe, his neck, his shoulder, his collarbone, while Geralt’s cock thrusts deeper inside him.

Jaskier starts rocking his hips to meet his movements and slowly, they find their perfect rhythm.

“Geralt–” 

The way Jaskier moans his name, the way his legs wrap around him, the way the nails of his fingers scratch his back, probably leaving marks, like memories on Geralt’s skin.

Geralt is going to drown in these overwhelming waves of pleasure that are washing over him. In spite of all his predictions from past years, he’s going to die a beautiful death.

“Geralt, I love you.”

It’s barely above a whisper, but Geralt is too caught up by the sounds their bodies are making together. Then, he remembers he has been denying Jaskier’s cock his attention for too long. Without wasting more time, he reaches between.

“ _Fuck_ , I love you, Geralt!”

Mere seconds later, Jaskier shudders against him as he spills his cum on Geralt’s hand and his stomach.

When Jaskier clenches around him, Geralt realises he’s not dying. He’s starting to live again. 

A few more thrusts and he howls as he comes inside Jaskier. He leans on his own elbows to avoid crushing him with his weight. They stay there for a moment, panting and feeling each other’s hot breath on their skin.

“I love you.” Jaskier repeats, breathlessly.

Geralt’s heart skip a beat as his mind finally processes what he has heard. Carefully, he pulls out and lies down on his side, next to Jaskier. Amber eyes search for the most stunning blue gaze in the darkness of the room and when they find it, Geralt wraps an arm around Jaskier’s waist and pulls him closer.

“I love you, too, Jaskier.”

The words leave him more easily than he would’ve thought and make his chest feel lighter and warmer, especially when Jaskier smiles at him.

“My beautiful witcher.” He says, before kissing him. “My gorgeous muse. My sweet wolf.”

“Hmm.” Suddenly, the warmth spreads on his cheeks and his ears as well. But Geralt doesn’t try to hide this time and instead, he brushes his nose with Jaskier’s gently. “My bard.”

Jaskier stares directly into his eyes, as his gaze twinkles with hope. “Will you let me? Will you take me with you, Geralt?”

Geralt pauses, realising what he has just done. “The life of a witcher is dangerous.”

“But you will protect me. And you can teach me how to protect myself better.”

Geralt can do that, can’t he? If Jaskier doesn’t want to stay here, if he wants to travel again, maybe Geralt can keep him safe somehow. 

As he slowly runs his hand on Jaskier’s cheek and down his neck, something else catches his attention. Jaskier’s pale skin is decorated with small, dark bruises that have the shape of Geralt’s teeth. “Did I hurt you?”

Jaskier raises his brows at him, but then smiles and shakes his head. “No, you silly witcher. I’d tell you if you did. Actually, I’m proud to have your marks on me.”

“Hmm.” Even if that was true, Geralt thinks he should find a way to apologise. So, he leans closer and presses his lips on each bruise lightly. Then, he starts licking them with his tongue.

“Geralt–” Jaskier hunches up his shoulders and giggles, trying to control himself, but eventually he bursts into laughter. “Wait, that– that tickles, Geralt!”

That’s it. That’s exactly how Jaskier should always sound. Geralt won’t ever get tired to hear him laugh.

With a happy sigh, they kiss one more time and fall asleep together, still holding each other.

***

The morning sun shines brightly above the streets of the village and finally people start dealing with their normal lives again. But not everyone is in a cheerful mood.

Eskel, Lambert and Coën take a careful step backwards in front of Jaskier’s house as Geralt blocks the entrance and unsheathes his weapon.

“From now on, whoever touches Jaskier will taste my sword.”

The three witchers exchange a few worried glances. 

“Are you serious?” Lambert asks, as he crosses his arms, probably wondering what the fuck his brother is doing.

Coën raises his hands in front of his own chest, as a sign of peace, and tries again to move forwards. He’s about to say something, but Geralt snarls at him and the Griffin witcher stops.

“Now, now, my beloved wolf, no need to be so threatening.” A sweet voice comes from behind Geralt’s back. Jaskier appears, wearing elegant high-waist trousers, boots and a normal shirt with the collar only slightly opened. He touches Geralt’s arm gently and traces a few circles with his thumb on his biceps. Then, he turns to the other witchers. “What my partner means is that since Geralt and I are together now, we have decided to be in an exclusive relationship.”

Lambert frowns in confusion. “So… you’re not a whore anymore?”

Geralt shoots him a silent, warning glare.

“Exactly. That’s very clever of you, Lambert.”

The confirmation is followed by a collective groan and sounds of protest, which make Geralt bare his teeth and growl at all the other witchers.

Beside him, Jaskier chuckles and then leans towards him to kiss his cheek. 

“Hmm.” Geralt’s scowl quickly turns into a soft expression. His shoulders relax, and he looks at Jaskier like nothing else exists. With a smile tugging his lips, he tilts his head to return the kiss.

“I feel like I’m being ignored.” Lambert grumbles to himself.

Coën sighs and crosses his arms. “It was too good to last.”

Eskel shakes his head but smiles at the pleasant scent of happiness coming from his brother and Jaskier. 

“Winter at Kaer Morhen is going to be very interesting this year.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this!
> 
> I got the idea for this story after watching a movie called "Mediterraneo" (1991). Obviously, most things have nothing to do with The Witcher, but it partly inspired me anyway. Basically, during WWII a group of italian soldiers go to a greek island where there are only women and old people, because the men have left for the war. After they arrive, the local prostitute offers her services to all of them. They decide to take turns with her, but one of them is a virgin and when it's his turn to go to her house, they simply spend their time talking. Eventually, they fall for each other and make love. When the other soldiers want to have sex with the woman again, the ex-virgin soldier threatens them with a shotgun. They understand those two have fallen in love and accept it. They also go to their wedding when the italian man and the ex prostitute decide to get married.


End file.
